


Nightswimming

by wearwind



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fenris Is A Hopeless Romantic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing at Midnight, Minrathous, NightSwimming, R.E.M. - Freeform, Tevinter Imperium, Whilst Hawke's Humour Is As Bad As Ever, kinda songfic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 02:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearwind/pseuds/wearwind
Summary: She kissed him, this time with a little too much force; it toppled them both under the surface, a wave covering their heads. Hawke emerged first, this time; she threw her hair back, and the flying jet of water from her braid left a silvery scar in the waves. She gave him a grin.“You could say that youtook my breath away.”Hawke and Fenris are in Minrathous. So they go swimming. Same universe asTomorrow,Choice of the ChampionandDorian Pavus, the Extraordinary Antivan.





	Nightswimming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my dudes. This fic is quite literally _testing the waters_ on whether you'd be interested in some VERY particular headcannon AriTred and I cooked up over the last few months. This is a part of a broader story, spanning about twenty years in Thedas time and about 500+ pages of writing - but for the purposes of this gratuitous bit of fluff, here's what you need to know.
> 
> \- Fenris is a diplomat, and the Fog Warriors' ambassador to Tevinter.   
> \- This takes place in the same unvierse as _Sea and Lightning_ \- meaning that Hawke has control over the sea, and Fenris is the Warrior Who Wielded Lightning.  
>  \- Lucerni, Dorian's new political faction, has succeeded in electing the new Black Divine, Bergolius Franthis.   
> \- One of Lucerni's political goals is negotiating the freedom of Seheron.
> 
> The **WARNINGS** are as follows: you should NOT read this fic if you're triggered by depths and (fear of) drowning. There is no all-out smut here, but both Fenris and Hawke are being quite explicit at times - hence the Mature tag.
> 
> Now that we got that out of the way, go ahead and enjoy your fluffy nightswimming!

_You, I thought I knew you,_

_you I cannot judge -_

_You, I thought you knew me,_

_this one laughing quietly underneath my breath_

_Nightswimming_

_deserves a quiet night._

**R.E.M., Nightswimming**

 

Fenris supposed he didn’t mind summer. He didn’t care for temperature either way – if not freezing or scorching hot, he usually wouldn’t consider it important enough to notice – but the warmth of Minrathous was… nice. Different than the warmth of Kirkwall. The sun didn’t split through the fog, it reached from the sky straight for his skin; it was why his complexion was ashen-grey and not pale like Hawke’s. He was born to live in this heat, under the unforgiving sun of Minrathous.

Hawke wasn’t. She was currently swearing colourfully as Mevis put soothing balms on her shoulders. “Maker’s friggin’ cockwomble. Fuck, ass, butt, to darna-fucking-hell with it! How are _you_ not burning!”

Fenris’ lips twitched as he turned over another page of the Lucerni memo. “You’ve had worse.”

“That’s not a Maker-damned answer, Fenris. Ow- _fuck,_ fuckity-fuckery-fuckipples! _Careful-_ ”

“Don’t pity her, Mevis. She knew what she was doing when she walked out without a parasol.”

“I did offer it, Domina,” said Mevis, a motherly elven freedwoman in her mid-forties, applying the balm to the back of Hawke’s neck. Another flurry of swearwords followed.

“I’m not carrying a fucking umbrella over me for the _sun!_ What am I, one of those wilty Orlesian mimosas?”

“Evidently.”

“Shove it up your tan elven ass, Warrior Who Wielded Snark.”

Fenris did his best not to look too amused. Hawke actually looked quite painful: her shoulders, forehead and nose were bright red, with a crisp line dividing the burnt skin from white where her blouse strap had been. Her piercing blue eyes, full of indignation, stood out in her face like two shiny pebbles. It was almost impressive how grumpy she looked.

“What were you even doing out in the middle of the day? In Matrinalis?”

“Yeah, no. No way I’m telling you now.”

“Domina went to the waterfront, Dominus,” announced Mevis, and Hawke shot her an unfavourable glance. A few months ago it would have been enough to silence her, but now the freedwoman had spent enough time with them to know exactly how to deal with the Hawke tantrums. Fenris counted that amongst his personal victories. “Down to the public beach.”

Hawke bristled. “What else am I supposed to do in this heat?”

He could laugh. Of course the Champion of Kirkwall, diplomatic envoy to the Magisterium, would go to the _public beach of Minrathous_. The one place where all the poor of the city, half-dead from the scorching heat, would come out on the slick black boulders to submerge their diseased bodies in the waters of the bay. It was usually crowded and stifling hot, without even a pretence of a shade, at a little rocky foothold at the very bottom of the city walls; a steep narrow pathway led to it from the slums, and countless people lost their lives every year tumbling down from it to the sharp rocks below.

Fenris hadn’t gone in years, not with this name and the lyrium; permanently glued to Danarius as he had been, there was no chance of ever reaching the beach. But even earlier, a boy named Leto would make his way down the narrow pathway, his older sister scolding him for running too fast, and dive straight into the murky depths of the bay...

“You can’t go to the beach in the middle of the day, Hawke. You’ll burn.”

“Oh _really._ ” Hawke gave him a very impressive stink-eye. “Whatever are you basing this prediction on.”

“Only common sense.” The stink-eye got somehow even more intense, with an added layer of grumpy. “You didn’t consider why the streets were empty?”

“Thought they were all at the beach. And I wasn’t wrong, judging by the crowd there.”

“You know we can go to a nicer beach.” Which would have been, quite frankly, every other beach in Minrathous. She only needed to show up. No magister would deny the Champion; once for her actual diplomatic status, and twice for the reputation that Varric’s strategic gossip had spread across the city. A dragon’s chosen, a sea-whisperer, and – most importantly – an insanely powerful blood mage would not be escorted out by _anyone._

Especially it was in the middle of Matrinalis, and all of those private beaches lay deserted anyway. In Matrinalis only dogs and slaves remained in Minrathous. (Fenris spared a cynical thought about how very fitting that was for him and Hawke.)

“What’s wrong with the beach I went to?”

Mevis coughed. “Surely you can do better, Domina.”

Hawke waved an impatient hand. “That one was the closest.”

Fenris considered explaining to Hawke the complex systems of waterfront rights of Minrathous, the real estate wars fought over the beaches for their prestige, and the rigid classification going from the Archon’s private estate all the way down to the public beach; and the affront and shock that was bound to follow once the news of the Champion of Kirkwall down in the slum has spread; but then he reconsidered. Hawke was many things, but gullible she was not. She must have known all this _before_ she went out.

And, if he knew her at all, she was probably going to continue using the public beach out of sheer spite. He imagined the next letter from Pavus and his lips curled up.

“There are ways to irritate the alti which don’t include getting yourself scorched, Hawke.”

“Ah, but how else would they know I’m committed?”

“A cut on the wrist is usually customary,” he said darkly, and Hawke shook her head.

“Blood magic jokes? Who are you and what have you done to Fenris?”

“Not quite a joke, Hawke. Consider it the range of my bitter disillusionment.”

“Now that sounds more familiar.”

Mevis cleared her throat. Fenris dropped his gaze back to the documents, still smirking. Hawke rolled her eyes, but turned around obediently, allowing the woman to massage the balm into her back.

He drifted off, focusing on the document. An old habit, ever since she taught him how to read; the difficulty of going through the letters had disappeared over time, but the intense focus remained. Lucerni sent the report on the Progenitori-leaning altus, young, rich, and potentially impressionable; if, Maevaris suggested, he could be removed from Ananias’ circles of influence and put into hers, he may quickly rebound towards their own positions. Fenris thought over several scenarios, and then carefully started writing. _A Lucerni mistress should be enough to change his socialising habits._

Before he finished, he could feel Hawke’s presence over his shoulder. “Mistresses, huh?”

“A very effective tool of transforming a man’s social life,” he said neutrally, looking for a cue in Hawke’s voice. Would she be disappointed in him, for advising this kind of strategic move? Amused? Distasted?

But Hawke just sighed. “You work too much, Fenris. It’s the middle of bloody August. Isn’t that a whole thing in Tevinter? Even Dorian is away.”

His expression soured. “Of course _he_ is away.”

“Oh, come on. You know he’s been working his ass off for the whole year.”

“He’s been doing something to his ass, no doubt.”

“Well, now you’re just _being_ an ass.” He snorted at the tortured pun, and Hawke grinned back at him, but she sobered up way too quickly for his liking. “Seriously. Would it kill you to take a break?”

Fenris’ first instinct was to dismiss her. He wasn’t used to letting go _,_ and this work – it was a constant stream of new information, and new decisions to make, and new circumstances to consider, and new threats to mitigate, and it was so _important_ , and, and – but then he took a look at Hawke’s burnt face and a question arose in his mind. _Why would she go to the beach now? Of all times?_

 There was a certain possible answer to that, and Fenris put it very firmly aside. “We’ve got so much work to do, Hawke.”

“The only people doing work in this city right now are you, Mae, and the cart drivers. And the cart drivers only do it because they’re making a fortune on fruit right now.” Hawke made a face at him. ”Take a break, Fenris. You can hold that Maker-damned parasol in front of me if that makes you happy. I’ll suffer through it.”

A thought fluttered through his mind about the two of them strutting along the Via Nevarrana with a cane and a parasol. It was simultaneously more and less ridiculous than expected. “That’s how we get the edge over the rest of them, Hawke.”

“I know. I get it.” She sighed. “But there’s this other thing.”

His ear twitched at that. “Yes?”

Hawke seemed to hesitate, looking at his half-finished letter to Maeveris. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it; her eyes softened. Fenris followed her gaze and noticed the little seal he’d finally had made a week before, after significant prodding on Pavus’ side. It was a grey wolf’s head with a white lightning across his forehead: a simple emblem for Fenris Coruscati, Warrior Who Wielded Lightning. He still had troubles recognising this string of glorious titles as his own name.

“I just wanted to go to a beach,” said Hawke eventually, and Fenris was absolutely certain that this was not what she’d intended to say. But he let it be. For the moment.

“There are other beaches with more shade we can go to, Hawke.”

She pouted at him. “Well, I’m not a mind-reader, am I? How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“How about asking?”

“I asked Mevis.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “Hawke, you asked her where _she’d_ go, and then you took advantage.”

“Maybe.”

“Certainly.”

“Well, it’s stupid anyway. How are your _water and shade privileges_ dependent on your class?”

“In a place that lacks water and shade?”

Hawke sighed. “It’s so awful. This city is just so awful. And what it’s doing to the people… You know how skinny those children were? Skin and bones would be too generous. Not much of even skin.”

Fenris’ fists clenched of its own accord. The sun was warm and the limestone was blindingly white, but beyond their shine Minrathous was still what he’d left it all those years ago: a monument to exploitation.

But they’d become complacent in their marble keeps and shadowy beaches, and they’d begun breeding wolves for their amusement. And now one of the pack got to the very top, and he would tear down everything they’d ever built on the backs of the slaves.

With patience, if need be. He resumed writing the letter.

Hawke observed him for a moment, and her fingers brushed past his neck, threading through the white locks. He closed his eyes momentarily, enjoying the touch; but then the caress was gone, and her steps sounded on the marble tiles as she walked away.

He let his mind slip into the bubble of focus again.

 

***

 

With the blinds drawn over his office window to avoid the heat, it was only the difference in the air that told him it was getting late. The breeze now came from the direction of the city; the stones were giving off heat in stifling muggy alleys, and the humidity in the air had a tired earthy note to it. It was the air that had been breathed in and out so much that no freshness at all remained.

The piles of paper on his desk were mounting. It was a productive day; undisturbed by the constant churning of the diplomatic machine, Fenris could tug at the threads of its fabric and see the before-still elements move in isolated ways. It was a fine and complicated machinery, the politics of Minrathous; but once he understood how the _politicians_ would move, the rest would fall in line. And with most of Minrathous elites out of the city, he could continue his meticulous work undisturbed.

In the stillness of Matrinalis, the divides were marking themselves clearly like lines on sands, crossing and veering across different territories in a complex array that, in any other time of the year, would shift constantly. The grandest divide was drawn between the Lucerni and the Progenitori: a simple conflict at the core, complicated like only the Tevinters could a matter so blindingly obvious. The new against the old, the change against the entrenchment. Sitting at the top of the pile of information, Fenris felt a strange moment of lucidity: only one could win in the end, and it was change. The world had shifted with the Blight in Ferelden, and then the skies were opened over Haven to shake the entire Thedas: now change was coming for Tevinter, inescapable as the tide.

But once he’d look past the deepest divide, there were other lines on sand, mapping themselves along – albeit not exactly – the Lucerni-Progenitori front. Relation to magic and non-mages was a major issue here, as Lucerni proudly proclaimed themselves champions of the high-born soporati; a family with soporati children, or alti with soporati lovers would ally themselves with the Lucerni regardless of their political stance. In turn, all who profited off war in Seheron would be staunchly allied with the Progenitori; and so would most Magisterium conservatives and old money. Those who cared about prestige naturally gravitated towards the Progenitori; yet after the Pavus Primodium and the won Black Conclave, the balance began to shift, with particularly younger alti drawn to the newfound splendour and power that the new faction suddenly emanated.

The issue or religion was more complicated still. If Fenris were to draw the line, it would most probably go askew all other divides, a taut string tugged from all directions to flatten out along either crevasse of political differences – either to go with the Progenitori _or_ the Lucerni. Instead, it ran directly perpendicular. The Chantry epitomised everything the Progenitori stood for: tradition, glory, unbroken link to the splendid past. It was a major source of power for those that already wielded it;, the templars were weaponised against the politically inconvenient, and the Chantry itself leveraged state-approved morality upon the populace. And _yet_ it was now run by a nouveau riche who made himself frustratingly difficult to manipulate – a victory given to the Lucerni almost too easily given the seismic changes it had caused. Bergolius energised those calling for the end of corruption, and rallied the Chantry liberals behind him, along with all those more keenly devoted. However, he had also alienated a huge group of believers who considered the Chantry a tool of political stability; including the clerical hierarchy, who swore vengeance on the heads of the Lucerni on the day Bergolius was sworn in.

The stakes were high on either end, and Fenris guessed that control over the Chantry would be the next big battlefield. The cards were stacked; the deck was laid; and everybody knew that everybody would cheat.

And then… there were personal priorities.

It was difficult to remember the overarching goal at times. He had been so drawn into the politics of Minrathous that it took conscious effort to take a step back and remember _why_ a former slave was now on equal footing with the magisters. Lucerni fought for Seheron the same way they fought for their Black Divine, as just one step in their long game of purging Tevinter; and that was Pavus’ goal all along. But Fenris did not do it for Tevinter. He did it for the freedom of Seheron.

One more year. One more year, and the island of Lusaac would be free. One step closer to the old promise that when there was nothing else to run from and hide from, the fogs will be lifted… and the six tribes of Seheron, the grey of the Coruscati amongst them, will be free to own their hard-won land. Then the plotting and scheming with the magisters will all have been worth it

If there was any way for him to atone for his sins fifteen years ago, it would be that.

Fenris stood up, stretching out the stiff muscles, put away the quill and went straight to the bedroom upstairs. It was late; he’d have a bath in the morning.

Surely enough, Hawke was already lying on the bed, curled up on top of the sheets. But she wasn’t asleep; he could distinguish between the way her chest moved as she breathed. It wasn’t quite deep enough, nor peaceful enough.

He left the clothes at the bedside and laid against her back, careful not to irritate the vengefully red sunburn. She still winced as he touched her.

“Oi! Watch it!”

He lay still. After a moment, she sighed and nestled her back against his chest. “Productive day?”

“Very.”

“That’s good.”

His hand skimmed around her waist to rest on her stomach. “And yours?”

“Meh. I’m still stinging all over. I went to see Mae in the afternoon, and then spent a couple of hours listening to some priest harp at me about the need for purification of the entire world. Whilst I was clearing the dragonlings from his basement. Tell me again why I put up with that?”

Fenris hid a smile in her neck. “Father Ithrinius is considered a prophet. It’s important we have him on our side.”

“He’s mad as a mabari on white poppy, that’s what he is. And who even breeds dragonlings? _In the middle of a city?_ ”

“He says they help him think.”

“By eating everybody around him, maybe.”

“That’s why you came along. Bergolius managed to convince him that one is enough.”

“I’ll say. You know what’s not fun when you’re all sunburnt? _Dragon fire._ ”

“That’s your own fault, Hawke.”

“Phew. Slow down with all that compassion.”

Fenris smirked, but said nothing. They were lying in silence for a moment, and he was considering the heat emanating from her sunburn; it was so alien, how the skin gave off so much warmth than he could feel it just pressing his nose close to her skin but not quite. She shivered under him.

“Stop sniffing me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. Mainly on my wounded pride.”

“It’ll be better tomorrow.”

She tsked. “Mhm. If I stay inside. I hate staying inside.”

“Mm.” He closed his eyes. The letters were dancing on the inner sides of his eyelids. He didn’t realised how tired he’d been; but yes, it’s been the whole day over the desk, and he wasn’t completely immune to the heat…

He drifted off. A small part of his brain registered that Hawke was still awake when he fell asleep.

 

***

 

He woke up in the middle of the night, blearily realising that something was off. The room was silent; the air was still and stifling, and no movement – no suspicious absence of movement, either – was to be found in their high-ceilinged bedroom. And yet he felt strangely awake. With a slow, seemingly natural motion he turned over to his side, reaching for the knife under his pillow –

And then he realised exactly what was off.

Hawke wasn’t asleep either. She was wide awake, staring at him with empty, impassive eyes. It startled him; the hand on the knife stilled.

“Hawke?”

She blinked away her reverie. “Haa. You can’t sleep either?”

“Not when you’re staring at me!”

She seemed to realise what she’d been doing, and grinned apologetically. “Sorry.” She turned around so he was now facing her back. He slowly shook his head.

“You strange woman.”

She didn’t reply, falling back into whatever odd contemplation had been on her mind. Fenris stared at the ceiling, uncomfortably awake.

Half an hour passed before he conceded he couldn’t sleep. A worry tugged at his mind, occupying the big Hawke-shaped centre of his universe; something amorphous and ill-defined, but it nagged at him still.

Finally he had enough.

“Hawke?”

“Mhm.” Her voice was strangely placid. She was evidently still wide-awake.

“Let’s go.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t sleep and you can’t sleep. We can do better with this time.”

“Mhm?”

He tugged at her shoulder, and she let out a pained yell. Fenris let go immediately.

“For _fuck’s-_ ”

“I’ll show you something.”

That finally caught her attention; she blinked away the reverie and slipped out of bed. He caught her hand into his, pulling her towards the door; she followed without a question, her bare feet making so much noise on the marble tiles. She’d never learnt stealth.

It wouldn’t matter. Fenris’ idea was mad enough they wouldn’t need too much hiding.

Hawke followed him along the villa corridor out to the vestibule and down the fan-shaped staircase; her hand was hot in his. She pulled at him when he moved towards the front door.

“Much as I’m enjoying this sleepwalking extravaganza,” she said in a loud whisper, “is there anything I should know before I walk out on the streets on Minrathous in my dressing gown? Just asking.”

He flashed a small smile. “Consider it a surprise.”

Hawke’s face suddenly became more awake, breaking into a huge grin. He felt the warmth of it straight in his heart. “Say no more.”

They slipped out of the house, bare feet on slick basalt cobblestones. The air was still hot in the air, the moon casting its yellow-white, bone-coloured light onto the columns of their villa and out on the broad, black-tiled street of the diplomatic district of Torinealta. The vivid colours of Minrathous were dimmed in its pale glow, the whites, reds, and greens of the lavish gardens reduced to a monochromatic mosaic. The street was dead quiet, with nothing more than wind moving leisurely along its cobblestones; Torinealta slept, and with the concentration of high-born mages in the marble palaces around them, it seemed as if their dreams somehow carried the district across to the Fade.

It was eerie. Even Hawke kept quiet, craning her neck to look around at the still, silent palaces bathed in pallid white light. With her bare feet and short sleeveless dressing gown that came up to her thighs, she looked so much younger than the wise-cracking Champion. It was as if he was looking through an eluvian that distorted time rather than space; a twenty-one-year-old Hawke of Hightown, Kirkwall’s most notorious busybody.

He felt a pang of longing for the city. The moon was painting Minrathous grey like the granite walls of the City of Chains; somewhere under the same light, Varric was probably still up, writing and drinking and greasing the wheels of the world. The wind would blow from the Gallows, bringing in the cold northern wind of Ferelden, and the signpost of the Hanged Man would creak against it. Up in the barracks, Aveline would dream her lawful dreams, and Donnic just dream; down in the Undercity, Friends of Red Jenny would plan their next hit amongst the hubbub of a busy night. Every part of Kirkwall had his own freedom woven into it, brand-new and fresh and crisp with wary excitement.

And yet the fate brought them back to the city of his torture –

He looked into Hawke’s eyes, bright and sorrowful, and he shook away the thoughts. “Come,” he said in a low voice, picking up the pace, and she followed.

They crossed the streets of Torinealta until the palaces became smaller, the gardens less obnoxiously blossoming, and the evergreens less trimmed; and then followed the path lower still, along a wandering trail down to the middle city walls. Then Fenris climbed over the battlements and started feeling his way down.

Hawke blinked at him. “Right. Is this the moment I tell you to let go of the rock and back away slowly?”

“Just follow me, Hawke.”

“It’s a fifty feet drop.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He finally found what he’d been looking for – an indistinguishable hole in the limestone with a hook dug deeply into the rock. There was a rope tied to it. Fenris grabbed it and gestured at Hawke to follow him. She raised her eyebrows with a quirked smile, but obeyed.

They made their way down the wall silently, their shadows dark and balooning in the streaming moonlight across the sloping limestone walls. This district was silent too, but for another reason; the men and women that lived here were too poor to afford anything else but sleep. The shacks were sloping and uneven, with no glass in the shapeless windows. A half-starved dog picked up its head as they walked past, its sides rising and falling sickly with the effort of it; then it lost interest quickly and went back to the death-like slumber. The contrast with Torinealta couldn’t be more stark.

Fenris knew that place in his bones. Another boy – the forgotten boy, Leto – used to live in here with his mother and sister.

Hawke squeezed his hand, but he didn’t stop. The road went along the city walls, uneven cobblestone under his feet like a reminder of everything he’d left behind – a life that wasn’t _his_ in any significant way, but he still had the memories of it welling behind his temples. Long, long empty nights, with hunger twisting his stomach because they hadn’t been the _nice_ sort of slaves that were kept in the dominus’ house; the stifling hot of the shed in the summer, and the nagging feeling that he wasn’t doing enough, that he was somehow a failure, a _man of the house_ who watched his mother and sister dragged away each morning, heavy arms of the soporati guards pulling him back impassively; they were too weak to work as he had, harnessed into a turning wheel that ran Minrathous’ desalination plant. Still, he was fed more often than not. The guards had seen he was strong. An investment; he could be pulling the wheel for five, six more years.

But he’d still been a child, and – it felt so odd to even reach those memories – a joyful, lively one. And so in the night, sometimes, when the hunger was too much to bear, Leto would run –

He walked along the moon-bathed wall until he found the crack. It was still disguised under the stack of stones and rubble, spiky Minrathous vegetation covering it with a thin layer. He felt Hawke’s eyes on the back of his neck as he crouched down to remove the stones.

“Caves?”

“Tunnels. It’s a Tevinter city, Hawke. What did you expect?”

She chuckled. “We’re breaking into some noble’s wine cellar?”

“Better.”

The crack was smaller than he remembered. He needed to lay straight down and pull himself through it by grasping at the stones within the grotto. The limestone was a metre thick, and the crawling awkward; but then the tunnel opened up to the height of an adult man, pitch-black but for the slight glow of the algae. The air was cooler here than out on the streets.

Hawke crawled in behind him and looked around. He heard her snap, and a white-yellow moon-like orb of light came into existence over their heads, revealing the narrow, uneven limestone walls, about wide enough for an elf with two outstretched elbows. “Much as I enjoy your Fog Warrior shtick, I’m not going blind into that good night.”

Fenris’ lips quirked. ”Tired of being led?”

“Depends. How likely is it that something’s going to try and kill us in these tunnels?”

“With you present? Very.”

“Ass.”

“We’re not in any immediate danger, Hawke. Follow me.”

Her eyes shone in the darkness of the tunnel as she followed him along the twists and turns of the winding, uneven path. “Why are we going here again?”

“If I couldn’t sleep, this is where I’d go. A long, long time ago.”

“Right. I thought that lack of self-preservation was _my_ thing.”

“Not many people know about this tunnel. It wasn’t carved. An earthquake made it about twenty years ago.”

He felt her aura expand and prod curiously in the air as they climbed over a rock shelf. “It feels older than that.”

“There might have been a weakness in the wall. It’s because of the water.”

“The water?”

He let go of the shelf and fell.

A splash sounded through the air, and in the last splinter of a second before he submerged he heard Hawke’s surprised yelp. He dived into the pitch-black ocean water, opening his eyes to the immense cavern under the surface; in the ages after the walls of Minrathous were set in stone, the ocean prodded and worried at the limestone, creating an underwater grotto. He was much heavier since the last time he’d fallen like that; the dive was deeper, and he hardly saw the flickering lights at the surface. His white hair flowed freely in all directions, following the ebb and flow of the underground currents. The darkness pressed at him from all directions, and he felt young, weightless, _free._ Free, before he’d even known what true shackles were. He hadn’t done that since Danarius.

He came back to the surface. “You wanted a beach?”

“Maker’s left nut, but you gave me a scare!” Hawke sounded slightly breathless over the rock shelf. He made an inviting gesture, floating easily in the salty water. She laughed, adrenaline mixed with genuine mirth.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“The moon.” He pointed at the direction of her orb. She grinned widely.

“Maybe the moon should make an appearance more often.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed, and turned on his back, looking at her under the low-hanging pitch black ceiling. “You’re coming?”

Her eyes glinted. “Make me.”

In a split second he was back on the rock, scaling its uneven, porous surface back to the high shelf. Smothering darkness fell on the cave; Hawke extinguished the orb. The water suddenly felt heavy, grasping at him and pulling him down like no normal water should. It was thick with magic. _Cheater._ But Fenris could play this game too.

He reached out to the magic in the water, the swelling waves of power, and pulled it in. It was easier and easier every time; the lyrium lit up as he let the magic course through him, a tight, constricting sensation. But then the lightning came at his fingertips, a brilliant, blinding ball of finely knotted light shining too brightly in the black grotto; in its light he saw clearly the fragment of the rock she was standing on. He let go of the lightning exactly under her –

She caught it. The water rose up and encased the lightning, creating a luminous lamp with the thunder thrashing against its curving walls. He snorted impatiently and resumed his climb; she couldn’t do two things at once.

“I could just drop this, you know! You’ll be nice and toasty by the end of it!”

“Yes? And who would save you from Maevaris’ paperwork then?”

“Look at the bookworm mouthing off.” She laughed, and the encased lightning went flying into the depths of the tunnel. There was a distant thunder.

“You might have just ruined the city walls, Hawke.”

“And all this just for the sake of a little foreplay.”

His pupils snapped wide. Oh, she had no idea. Without the lightning and her little glowing orb, they were momentarily in the darkness, and Fenris didn’t need light to climb silently –

He lunged at her from the back. They both tumbled into the water, fighting tooth and nail. They broke the surface, still locked in a tight embrace, Hawke’s hands clawing at his arms around her. Were they not submerged, he’d laugh out loud; her hair flowed wildly around them like a bushy underwater forest. The water swirled furiously around him, and after an entirely too easy a wrestle – as if he ever had trouble restraining a mage! –  a tide rose up from underneath them, yanking him away from her. He swam to the surface, laugher bubbling in his throat.

A splash slapped him immediately. His raspy laugh became coughing.

“That’s still a victory.”

Hawke, sitting at a top of a translucent water pillar, splashed him again. “You’re mad.”

“And you’re cheating.”

“Said the guy that wanted to blow off the rock I was standing on!”

“Would it have worked?”

“Maybe. Ow!” Hawke banged her head against the low ceiling. “C’mon.”

Fenris dived again, turning to swimming upwards into the whirlpool of the pillar. It was a strange sensation - as if threading water in a narrow tall aquarium. He pulled Hawke’s leg, dragging her under the water. The pillar shuddered around him as she lost her focus, and in an enormous splash they fell back into the depths of the cave, the impetus of the wave pushing them away from the rocky foothold. He held on to her as she thrashed; eyes closed, cheeks puffed, hair flowing around her face in thick ribbons, she swam up to the surface –

They both hit the ceiling of the cave. He saw her submerged face change, panic taking over, and suddenly he realised that her thrashing might have not been as playful as he’d thought. Her hands were frantically grasping at his shoulders, and Fenris flailed, trying to keep himself near the surface; their wrestling became violent as she raked her fingers across his face. Fenris dived deeper and threaded his elbows with hers. And then he started pedalling, his chest uncomfortably constricted and tight with breathlessness, Hawke’s flailing weight behind him –

The colour of the water changed.

They gasped for breath as they reached the surface. For a second, he could see nothing but silvery foam and splashing water, salt burning in the back of his throat, slim arms around him pulling his weight back into the depths of the sea. He forced his eyes open: Hawke was clinging to him as she coughed, her hair plastered across her face, chest heaving frantically with each breath.

He held her tight. Her skin was pale against his, wet and glistening in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry.”

“Idiot!” she managed between coughs.

“I know.”

“No, no no no. Me, the idiot. I panicked!”

He brushed away the hair from her face. Her eyes were furious – but with the same undercurrent of sadness he’d seen earlier this evening. It’d gone away, for a moment, in the cave; but now it was back, and Fenris didn’t know what to do. So he did the only thing he could: he kissed her, cool and salty, on the open waters of the bay.

The salt tingled on his mouth.

Hawke closed her eyes. He brushed his lips over her eyelids, feeling the minute fluttering of her lashes.

They were out in the open now, the entire menacing height of Minrathous above them as a dark hulking shadow. The walls towered over the bay like steep, untouched cliffs; there was no trace of the tunnel they’d swam through. They were drifting on the softly undulating water, silvery in the pale moonlight. There was not another living soul in sight, nothing at all but the straight line of the horizon, dividing the silver of the sea from the black night sky.

Fenris felt light-headed. He’d thought he remembered this; the path and the tunnel and the underground passageway to the open sea. But the feeling –

“It’s like that Summernight,” Hawke said quietly, looking around, her voice soft in his ear. “Do you remember?”

He nodded silently. Oh, he remembered. The Summernight after she’d almost died. The bonfires were lighting up the outline of the city, and they sat by the shore, and the abomination made a dragon…

“Oh, Fenris,” she whispered, tugging him closer, her forehead against his. “It was _so_ long ago.”

There it was, her nebulous sorrow he’d been helplessly watching for a long while now, as close to the surface as he’d ever seen it. He pressed her closer.

“Hawke.”

She hid her face in the crook of his neck, her hot breath on wet skin making him shiver.

“What’s wrong?”

Hawke smiled weakly. He felt the movement of her lips against his skin. “Huh? I’m having a midnight smooch sesh with my lover. Everything’s just right.”

“No. No, it isn’t.

“What’s wrong with a little melancholy under the moonlight?”

“It’s not just under the moonlight.”

“Fenris.” Her grip around his shoulders tightened. “Let’s just enjoy this in peace, shall we?”

He shook his head, his wet hair splashing the surface. “I can’t. Not if you’re like this.”

“ _I_ am enjoying this unexpected midnight swim, thank you very much.” She kissed him, this time with a little too much force; it toppled them both under the surface, a wave covering their heads. Hawke emerged first, this time; she threw her hair back, and the flying jet of water from her braid left a silvery scar in the waves.

She gave him a grin. But up close, in the glimmering net of light on the waves, he could see the tightness of her lips.

“You could say that you _took my breath away._ ”

That caught him unawares. Hawke seemed pleased by the surprised bark of laugher. “Yup. Still got it.”

“Just as awful as every other time.”

“Oh, don’t be such a _wet blanket_ about this.”

His lips twitched. “I prefer dry humour.”

She stared at him incredulously. Then a huge grin broke onto her face – and she burst into peals of laughter so hysteric she ended up below the surface again. The sea bubbled up over her head.

Fenris pulled her up – but the only effect it had was that he submerged too, Hawke pulling him down with a tight embrace. They kissed again, lips pressing together tightly through the silver-coloured water, limbs entwined, black and white hair tangling in an upward flow as they floated deeper and deeper. Her skin felt like silk on his. Maker, but he loved her – her restlessness and her intangible sorrow and the way she still felt like her underneath, the same fierce joy that’d pulled him in all those years ago. And if he were to fall with her, he’d fall all the same, always, even to the bottom of the sea.

She had always been the anchor.

He didn’t know how long they were falling down. Long enough for his chest to start aching, and the darkness to overtake the silver light in the water; or maybe he just couldn’t see anymore, he was so out of breath. But he wouldn’t let go.

He’d never, ever, _ever_ let go.

Finally the water became thick with magic; an invisible force pulled them up from the depths and pushed them through the fathoms of water towards the surface. And not a moment too soon; his lungs were aflame, and the instinct to breathe was becoming too strong –

They gasped for air. The moon was blinding over their heads.

“Why in the _Void_ wouldn’t you just-”

“I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Her face was glistening with salty water, pale and silver and shivering. A good excuse, an excellent explanation – but he knew her expressions too well.

“Fuck. You just won’t let this go, will you.”

“Never.”

Something in her face broke.

“I miss you,” she said in a raspy, throaty voice, rough from coughing and breathlessness. “I see you every day, and I still miss you! So many things to do, important things, freedom of Seheron, and end of magical corruption, and you’re… you’re everything I always knew you could be, cunning and brilliant and powerful, but I don’t get to see it. This is not my world. This… look at this!” She made a shaky gesture at the towering height of the Minrathous walls. “I can’t stand this city! I look around, and all I see is your suffering all over it, and when I think about losing you to it- I-”

Fenris stared at her, dumbfounded. The shimmer of the waves was suddenly deafening.

He held on to her hands.

They were clenched convulsively around his fingers.

“I don’t belong here.” There was helplessness in her voice. ”And where you’re going, I can’t follow.”

Fenris swallowed hard. “I don’t belong here either.”

“Yes, you do. And there’s nothing wrong with that! I’d never want you to…” _Her eyes, looking at the waxen seal. Wolf with lightning on his forehead._ “… be less _you._ But this? Tevinter? I… I can’t do Tevinter.”

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.” She imitated his dull tone in a weak attempt of humour, but he just squeezed her hands tighter.

“Tevinter will never own me again.”

Her face went even paler. “I didn’t say-”

“We’re here to free Seheron. Pavus and his minions can try and reform this cursed country. But I don’t care.” Fenris looked at the walls of Minrathous, his mouth taut. “I care about Asha and the Coruscati, and the safety of the Warriors. And if I can use everything that Tevinter has taught me to ensure they’re safe, I will. I am only following your example, Hawke.”

Her lips twitched in a weak smile. “A no-one rising to power on the premise of keeping family safe? We should check if Minrathous has a Champion seat going spare.”

“I’ll never fight for this city.”

Hawke gave a minute nod. He pulled her closer. Her face glistened in the moonlight, and his heart twisted at that sight. “Why are you even worrying about this? Have I neglected you?”

“No. No! I’m just being stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. Hawke was silent for a long moment.

When she spoke, it was very soft and quiet. “It’s okay.”

Suddenly - the silvery light around them intensified. If was as if a cloud revealed a new sun, dispersing a shadow they’d never noticed till now. The water became almost bright with the argent glow.

Hawke let out a small gasp. “Look, Fenris! Satina!”

He turned back. The second moon of Thedas was rising on the horizon, spilling its silver light towards them in a shining trail, climbing upwards to where the first moon was lording over the sky. The night was so bright he could see the rooftop of the Argent Spire reflect the light.

“What’s she doing in there? We only see two moons together at Firstfall!”

“We’re much further north. They’re both visible in Firstfall and August.”

Hawke was silent for a long moment; her eyes shone with silver light. He could see the reflections of both moons in her pupils.

“This just doesn’t end.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her to glance at the moons. “What doesn’t?”

“Change. Growth. You’d think we built ourselves up in Kirkwall, but here it all starts again. A new city, a new challenge to take on.”

She took a long breath and shook her head, seemingly shaking off something thick and heavy, and straightened up. ”I’ve been a little slow on the uptake, I think.”

He brought his knuckles to his lips. “It’s a new life.”

“And I spent too much of it pining for the old. This stops now.” Hawke’s eyes were burning with azure-blue fire. “You’re right, we’re not doing this for Tevinter. We’re here for our family.”

He nodded silently.

“I can do that.”

“I never doubted you, Hawke.”

“But only if we do it together.” Her hand at his lips shifted to cup his cheek. “And I mean all of it. Paperwork, meetings, plotting. Together. Or not at all.”

A corner of his lip rose. “Did you just ask for paperwork?”

“Nope. You’re hearing things. Yes, Fenris, I did. Now stop gloating.”

“You’re asking the impossible.” She pinched his cheek; lightning-fast he grabbed her wrists and pulled her closer. Their bodies pressed together in the water.

“What? That was just very… cheeky of you.”

He rolled his eyes, albeit with lips curling up. “I missed you too, Hawke.”

She sighed, settling her head against his shoulder. “Good. I thought it was just me. It would’ve been pretty embarrassing if it’d been just me.”

“I miss Kirkwall as well.”

“You do?”

“When Seheron is free and safe, I’d like us to go back.”

“Eluvians. That’d do it,” murmured Hawke against his skin. ”Or I could practice those huge Fade steps. There has to be a way to do that without almost dying.”

He chuckled quietly, but didn’t say anything else. Neither did she; they drifted in silence together, Hawke’s eyes still following the rise of Satina. The second moon climbed the skies to reach her grander companion; stars dimmed as it rose to a full shield, the entire sea now lighting up with bright silver light.

They had shared the same longings and the same worries; it seemed natural that they would miss Kirkwall. It had been barely six months that they’d spent here. But Hawke had echoed his thoughts: change happened whether they wanted it or not. And now the change awaited Minrathous; and if Hawke really did carve her own destiny – just like the dragon goddess had said, all those years ago – then it was no use focusing on the past. They were just a couple of foreigners in a strange city again, and from the ground up, a path to glory awaited…

The cliffs of the city lit up with the rise of Satina. He could see the outlines of the districts, each shadow crisp and still in the nocturnal silence.

“Two moons,” whispered Hawke. “And they’re so much brighter than just one.”

He nodded.

As long as they circled each other, side by side, even if separate, but still adding to one another’s shine, their silvery glow making stars go blind.

They stayed in the bay for a long time, talking quietly as they drifted on the waves of the calm sea. Until, finally, Hawke took her eyes off the moons and back to him, and he enveloped her in his arms, and the glow of lyrium and her magic and the sea became one in a giant silvery pillar that took them up, up and up, along the black hulking mass of the city walls, until the sea reached out for the city as if it were a silver-lined bridge; and then it deposited them, breathing quickened and cheeks rosy, on the ramparts of Torinealta.

Fenris felt light-headed. No matter how many times he witnessed it, seeing the mastery of the raw elemental power always made him shudder.

A quiet clang broke the dead silence. They both turned their heads to look at it: at a high-standing diplomatic villa, a teenager dropped a suspicious-looking bottle. She was gaping at them with her jaw completely slack. They stared at each other for a few tense seconds; then the girl ran back in and slammed the balcony door shut.

Fenris and Hawke exchanged glances.

“Wasn’t that the Rivaini ambassador’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And she just saw us get a giant seawater-made bridge to one of the highest districts.”

“Also yes.”

“You know, I always wanted to be so badass that I’d traumatise teenagers off booze.”

“Congratulations, Hawke. You’ve peaked.”

“Damn right I did. Now that I have nothing better to do, I guess I can help you out with this whole freedom of Seheron thing.”

Fenris’ lips quirked. ”If that’s not beneath you.”

“It is a serious downgrade, I admit.”

“I might have to make it worth your while, then.”

“Mhm.” She grinned at him, and his pulse quickened. Now when she was out of the water, the wet nightgown clung to her body in a most distracting way. She followed his eyes down and her grin widened even more.

“Last one to the bedroom is explaining this whole thing to the Rivaini ambassador.”

“You wi— _venhendis!_ ” The Fade fluttered around him, and Hawke disappeared from sight, zapping into being at the far end of the street. He cursed and ran after her.

 

 

***

 

_15 th August, 9:45 Dragon, Hanged Man_

_Chuckles,_

_If you do poetic shit like that, warn the poor biographer in advance. I might just puke from all those moon and ocean shenanigans._

_I’m attaching the list of my informants in Minrathous and around. Maker knows what you need that for, but if that gets into Sparkler’s hands, I will let the whole world know all about that one time when Sebastian took you shopping._

_Good to know you’re finally taking this whole diplomatic gig seriously, though. Your elf is all up in it, so you might as well. You’ve got different strengths. If you balance them out properly, you might be actually pretty damn effective._

_You two take care._

_Varric_

_… I'm pining for the moon_

_And what if there were two_

_Side by side, in orbit around the fairest sun?_

_That bright, tight forever drum_

_Could not describe nightswimming_

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... deserves a quiet niiiiiiiiiiight.
> 
> What are your thoughts on diplomat!Fenris, and Minrathous in general? I hope you enjoyed it - AriTred and I have ambitious plans to develop this storyline into a full-blown political drama, with the Lucerni/Progenitori conflict about Seheron on the forefront. Let me know if you would be interested in reading it.
> 
> If you're still confused as to why Fenris suddenly shoots lightning, and Hawke is a waterbender, you might enjoy _Sea and Lightning_ , where you can find the origin story of those abilities. (There might or might not be Solas involved.) And yes, those are still the same people from _Tomorrow_ \- they've just gone a long, long way.
> 
> When, oh when do I let this fandom go? *.*


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